Unwanted Houseguests
by Eligent
Summary: Lately, it seems like McGee's apartment is just overrun with uninvited people.
1. Chapter 1

**Unwanted Houseguests**

**by Eligent**

Summary: Lately, it seems like McGee's apartment is just overrun with uninvited people.

**A/N: **Not that it's really that important for the story, but the timeline is somewhere around season four or five. Usual disclaimers apply. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

McGee woke to the sound of someone raiding his fridge. And even though he highly doubted that any kidnappers or murders would take the time to fix themselves a sandwich before doing their evil deeds to him, he still reached for his gun before swinging his legs off the bed and tiptoeing out into the main room. But the dark, curly hair had him putting the gun down again. "Sarah!" he complained. "Do you want to get shot?"

"You don't have any eggs," she answered without turning around. "And maybe your first instinct when you have guests shouldn't be to shoot them."

"Guests?" McGee answered unsympathetically. "It's looks more like burglary to me. How did you get in here, anyway?"

"With the key you gave me the last time I was here, of course," Sarah said flippantly.

"I never gave you a key," McGee protested.

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Did!"

"Didn't!"

"Yes, you did," Sarah said with a so-there attitude. "You left it in your coat pocket for me to find."

"In mycoat pocket!?" McGee exclaimed. "You mean you stole it?"

"You're my brother, of course I didn't steal it," Sarah sounded insulted. "We share everything, don't we? Why aren't there any eggs?"

McGee frowned at the quick change of subject. "Because I don't like eggs that much."

"But I do," Sarah said matter-of-factly. "Didn't mom teach you any manners? Good hosts keep a full fridge."

"And good guests phone ahead," Tim growled.

"I'm not a guest, I'm your sister," Sarah shot back.

"Then I'm not a host, I'm your brother," Tim retorted.

"Fine," Sarah rolled her eyes at him. "Just pick up some groceries on your way home."

"Why?" McGee asked suspiciously, then he saw the suitcases standing by the door. "Sarah, just how long are you planning on staying?"

"Oh, I don't know," Sarah shrugged. "'Til graduation?"

"Graduation?" McGee said shrilly. "But that's years away! What's wrong with your dorm? Has the university kicked you out?"

"Of course not," Sarah scoffed at him. "Greta and I don't just get along anymore. She's such a know-it-all! I just wanted a change of venue."

"For a few _years_?" Tim exclaimed. "Where are you planning to sleep?"

Sarah shrugged. "What's wrong with your bed?"

"Uh… I'm in it?"

"Every night?" She raised an eyebrow teasingly at him.

"Yes!"

"Seriously, Tim, you need to get a girlfriend," Sarah shook her head sadly at him. "Can't you just swing by IKEA on your way home and pick up a bed? If we move your writing desk—"

"No!" McGee shouted. "No. No IKEA, no groceries… I don't want to move my writing desk. I _write_ at my writing desk. Why don't you move back in with mom and dad?"

"Because I'm an adult, Tim," Sarah rolled her eyes again. "I don't want to live with mom and dad."

"But you have no problem mooching of your older brother? How very grown up of you."

"Hey, I'm living off student loans here!" Sarah defended herself. "Do you mind if I eat the last of the sugary cereal?"

"Would it matter if I did?" In the bedroom McGee's alarm clock started beeping. He turned around and glared at it. "I have to get ready for work. Can you fix me some breakfast too?"

"Nag, nag, nag," Sarah said. "Can you pick up some eggs on your way home or not?"

"Not! There's a grocery store five minutes from here," McGee yelled from the bedroom. "You can buy your own eggs."

"I have to study all day," Sarah yelled back. "Come on, Tim. Be a mensch!"

Tim sighed. Why had he let his sister become spoiled rotten? He should've put his foot down 20 years ago. He should make her get her own groceries. But somehow he knew there would be a carton of eggs in his bag when he got back from work today.

* * *

"You're late" Tony accused him as soon as he opened the door to the studio apartment they were using for the stakeout.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," McGee apologized. "I had a surprise guest this morning."

"Ah, McGee, you finally got your period?" Tony clapped his hands together in mock glee. "Congratulations, you're now a woman."

McGee sighed. "Ziva?" he begged. She obliged him and smacked Tony in the back of the head.

"It was my sister," Tim explained. "She's had a tiff with her roommate and has now decided to squat at my place for a while."

"A tiff?" Tony asked with raised eyebrows. "Are you sure you're not a woman?"

Ziva frowned. "Has her roommate injured her, McGee?"

"What?" Tim said surprised. "No, of course not!"

"Then why can't she sit properly? Why does she have to squat?"

"In this case, squatting means living illegally in a condemned building," Tony explained.

"Has your building been condemned, McGee?" Ziva asked sympathetically. "Do you need a place to stay?

"Thank you, Ziva, but there's nothing wrong with my building," McGee said. "It's the living illegally part that concerns me. Where's Gibbs?"

"He went home when his relief got here," Tony said sourly. "But I had to stay here and wait for you."

"And we all know how desperately you need your beauty sleep," Ziva taunted him. Tony made a face at her.

"I said I was sorry," McGee said. "Anything happen last night?"

"Ziva can fill you in. I'm going home to sleep." Tony slammed the door behind him.

McGee smiled a Ziva. "He's cranky when he's tired, isn't he?"

Ziva went and sat down by the window, picking up a pair of binoculars. "According to Gibbs, MacCleran has been asleep all night. No one's been near his door except the newspaper boy."

"All right," Tim said, picking up the log and skimming through it. "I hope the dealers show up soon. I'm getting bored with this place."

They already knew that MacCleran supplied the drugs that were being sold all over Norfolk naval base, now they were just waiting to see who it was that was bringing the drugs from MacCleran to the base, but they were now four days into the stakeout and so far no one had shown up.

"Me too," Ziva said. "Get me some coffee?"

"Sure." McGee went into the small kitchenette. The coffeepot was full, complementary of Gibbs, he presumed. He poured them both a cup and went back to the window, sitting down next to Ziva and handing her a cup. "Here you go."

"Thanks," she said. She blew on her coffee, took a sip and peered at McGee over the rim of her cup. "You and your sister are very close, yes?"

"Yeah, I guess so," McGee said, staring out the window. "No, I mean, I know so. We're close."

"That's nice," Ziva commented. "I miss that."

"Your sister?" McGee asked.

"Yes," Ziva said. "She was my best friend, I think. My closest ally. She always came to me with her problems. I was quite proud of that, to tell you the truth. That she trusted me the most in the world."

McGee smiled crookedly. "I get your point. Of course I'm going to let her stay with me for a while. It's just that it's a small apartment, and Sarah's a big person."

Ziva frowned. "I don't remember her being fat."

"She's not!" Tim protested. "I just mean that she takes up a lot of space. She's loud and opinionated and colorful and messy and, well… rather selfish at times."

"She sounds a lot like Abby," Ziva commented.

"Yeah," McGee said thoughtfully. "Yeah, they do have a lot in common, I suppose. I never really thought about it that way before. I'm not going to let her stay until graduation, though. No way. I'll give her a few days to cool off, and then I'll see about getting her back to campus, or getting her an apartment of her own."

"Very sensible," Ziva agreed. "Very brotherly. I'm sure she'll be fine."

* * *

It was closing in on lunchtime when they finally hit pay dirt.

"I've got people arriving," Ziva said, reaching for the camera.

"Nice," McGee said. "You getting any good pictures." He grabbed the laptop from the table and opened the appropriate software.

"See for yourself," Ziva commented, as the pictures automatically started downloading onto the computer. McGee quickly chose the most suitable ones and uploaded them to a facial recognition program.

"Bingo!" he exclaimed. "Ensign Joseph Marino and Lieutenant j.g. Tommy Roxenhall, both stationed at Norfolk."

"Well, then," Ziva said, "Let's get the ball rolling."

In the end, it turned out to be a perfectly executed raid. Backup arrived promptly and all three men were caught in the act without a single shot being fired and Tony, having been home sleeping, missed out on all the exiting action, but came back just in time to help with the boring evidence gathering. They also retrieved both the drugs and the money meant for payment, 500 000 dollars in cash.

"What's with drug runners today?" Ziva complained. "Haven't they heard of internet banking?"

"There's probably money laundering involved," McGee commented as he carefully sealed an evidence box with all the money in.

They ran the evidence in and left it all with Abby, before proceeding with interrogating the suspects.

"What do you think, boss?" Tony asked late in the afternoon.

Gibbs scratched his head. "They are obviously not the brains of the operation," he said. "But they're unusually tight-lipped about who the boss is. I had expected them to break by now."

"Maybe a night in jail will soften them up," Tony said.

"It's happened before," Gibbs agreed. "You can all call it a night, now. There's nothing pressing that needs to been done tonight."

"Thanks, boss," all three said in unison, gathering up their things and taking off.

* * *

Tim stepped out of the elevator at home, keeping the door from closing with his foot as he started to empty out the elevator. Not only had he picked up eggs, bacon, sugary cereal and a whole lot of other types of food he knew Sarah favored, he had also swung by a department store and bought an air mattress, a cover and a pillow. Now the only challenge he had left was to convince Sarah that the air mattress was for her, and the bed was for him. He did not look forward to that argument, but he had decided to be firm.

He dragged everything to the end of the hall and unlocked his door. Then he dragged everything inside, kicked the door shut behind him and sighed deeply. Apparently Sarah's suitcases had exploded and deposited all of her belongings in untidy heaps all over the room. The kitchen was full of crumbs and spills, and the sink was full of dishes. His sister was an enigma. How could she claim there was no edible food in the house and still use so many dishes?

"Sarah?" he called as he lifted the grocery bags up on the counter and opened the fridge. "Sarah? Come out here and help me. Now, please."

"Ti- Tim?"

The shaky whisper had him twirling around in an instant, with his heart in his throat. In the bedroom doorway stood Sarah with a black-haired man, wearing a gray US Navy sweatshirt and jeans, who had an arm tightly wound around her waist and a gun with a silencer harshly pressed into her side.

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

McGee automatically reached for his own gun, but stopped short when the man tutted him. "I really wouldn't do that if I were you, Agent McGee," he said, pushing Sarah further into the living room, revealing a second man, with red hair and identical attire, who came out of the bedroom with his gun trained on McGee.

"Let her go," McGee said angrily.

"Not just yet," the black-haired man said. "There's a little discussion you and I have to have first."

McGee looked at his sister. Her hands were duct taped in front of her, and there was crusted blood under her nose. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She nodded shakingly.

The red-headed man approached him and motioned with his gun for Tim to come out of the kitchen. "Hands in the air," he ordered and Tim reluctantly obeyed. The man relieved him of his gun, tucking it into his own belt, and Tim's phone and wallet which he put on the computer desk by the front door. "Now, turn around, hands behind your back."

Tim took a long look at his sister, and especially at the gun being shoved into her waist, before complying. "What do you want?" he asked as he felt duct tape being tightly wound around his wrists.

"Nothing much," the man behind him said as he finished with Tim's arms and pushed him to sit down in the desk chair. "Just the ten kilos of cocaine and the 500 000 dollars you stole from us today."

Tim stared straight at him. "I have no idea what you're talking about." A punch to the gut had him doubling over and grunting, while Sarah whimpered quietly in sympathy.

"Now, see here," the man said. "If you're going to keep being difficult, the next punch won't be for you. It will be for your sister's pretty face."

Tim glanced over at Sarah, and the black-haired man who had now pressed her harder back into his own body. "I'm sorry," he said hoarsely. "But I can't help you. I don't have access to them anymore."

In a flash, the man holding Sarah had swung her around and backhanded her across the face so that she fell to the floor.

McGee reacted without thinking. In a second he was out of his chair and charged at the man, who simply turned towards him and fired his gun. The pop was almost inaudible, thanks to the silencer, but Tim sure felt the bullet as it ripped through his thigh. His leg buckled underneath him, but his momentum still carried him forward and he crashed into the man, who simply grabbed him and tossed him off again. Tim crashed with his back first into the bookshelf he used as a room divider. It wobbled and some books and knickknacks fell to the floor, but the bookshelf itself stayed upright.

Tim fell in an untidy heap on the floor, pain lancing through him from his thigh, momentarily robbing him of his breath. _Someone must've heard that,_ he thought. _Please, let someone have heard that and called the police._

The red-headed man squatted down in front of McGee and pulled him up so that he was sitting upright with his back to the bookshelf. "Are you ready to talk now or do we have to shoot your sister too?"

McGee looked around. Sarah lay on her side on the floor, facing him. She looked worried and watched him with fearful eyes. The black-haired man stood over her with his gun cocked. Tim swallowed and looked back at the red-headed man. "What do you want me to do?" he asked with a thick voice.

The red-headed man smiled at him and reached out and patted him affectionately on the cheek. "I knew you would be reasonable, with the right motivation." He winked. "In a few hours, when the Navy Yard is mostly empty, you and I are going to go there and pick up our property from the evidence storage. Jones here," he nodded at the black-haired man, "will stay here and keep your sister company until we have our things back. Then we'll let you go and be on our merry way. Simple as that."

McGee shook his head vehemently. "No. No way am I leaving her alone here with one of you."

Jones laughed at him. "Don't worry, hero, your sister's virtue is safe with me. I just want my money back."

But McGee kept shaking his head. "Why don't you both come with me? Then you can be on your merry way straight from the Yard. It'll save you a lot of time. Just tie her up in the bathroom or something. I'll come back and free her when you're gone."

"Sorry, pal," the black-haired man said. "No can do. She's our insurance that you don't try anything stupid while we're out and about. Don't worry. Jones will be nice to her as long as you're nice to us."

"Please," Tim pleaded. "Just let her go. I swear I'll do whatever you want. Just let her go."

The black-haired man looked at him with something akin to sympathy. "It will all be over in a couple of hours. Just cooperate, and she won't be hurt anymore." He stood up and nodded at Jones, who relaxed his stance and lowered his gun.

"Go sit with your brother," he said to Sarah. "We're going to be here a while."

Sarah crawled over to McGee. "Tim!" she half-sobbed, "You're hurt."

Tim gave her a weak smile. "Nah," he said jokingly. "It's just a flesh wound."

"He's bleeding," Sarah said angrily to Jones. "Can't you help him? He won't be able to help you in this condition."

McGee looked down at his leg and realized that she was right. His beige slacks were soaked in blood. But there wasn't as much blood as there would've been if he'd been hit in the femoral artery. So he most likely wouldn't bleed to death. Not yet, anyway.

"Smith," Jones called. "Can you get him a towel or something?"

The man called Smith was already coming out of the bedroom with a towel in his hand. He tossed it casually into McGee's lap. Sarah took it and pressed it against the bullet hole on the front of his thigh. McGee hissed and gasped with pain. "Other side too," he grunted.

"What?" Sarah asked.

"Other side too," McGee repeated, trying to raise his leg. "It was through and through. You have to put pressure on both sides."

"Oh, right, sure," Sarah said nervously, "I knew that." She lifted his leg into her lap, so that she would have access to both wounds. "I don't know how they expect you to go anywhere like this," she muttered.

"Don't worry," McGee said through clenched teeth. "I'll do whatever I have to do to get you out of this."

"Us," Sarah reminded him.

"What?"

"Us. To get us out of this," Sarah said. "I don't want you to do anything rash or stupid for my sake. You have to survive this too, or I'll never forgive you. Hear that?"

"I'll be careful, I promise," Tim told her.

* * *

They sat together for a long time, pressed up close to each other. Sarah had a death grip around Tim's thigh, and Tim rested his own hand gently on top of hers. He could feel her fear trembling through her body, even though she put on a brave face in front of Smith and Jones. The bleeding eventually slowed down and almost stopped, but Tim knew that it would start again when he had to get up and move around again. He kept an eye on the two armed men who sat at his bar disk. They were having a hushed conversation with each other, and looked back at him and Sarah every now and then. Especially Smith was very attentive. The smallest rustle of clothes as he or Sarah changed position had Smith turning around with the speed of a viper.

When the clock neared nine p.m., Smith said something to Jones, patted him on the shoulder, and then came over to the siblings. He reached down and took a hold of McGee's upper arms and pulled. "Time to go," he said. "We just have to get you bandaged and changed first. Wouldn't want you to raise any eyebrows, should we run into anyone."

Tim struggled to his feet, with Smith's support and allowed himself to be led into the bathroom. Smith brought out a knife and sliced through the duct tape around his wrists. "You have any first aid in here?" he asked.

Tim nodded. "In that cabinet," he pointed.

"Okay, do what you have to do," Smith said, leaving him alone, but without closing the bathroom door.

Tim gathered up bandage, gauze and antiseptics from his medicine cabinet and placed them on the sink. Then he unbuckled his belt and lowered his pants to mid-thigh before sitting down on the closed toilet lid and pushing his pants down to his ankles. His whole thigh was red with dried and semi-dried blood. The gunshot wounds looked red, swollen and angry and were seeping blood. He swallowed at the sight of them, before wetting a towel and started cleaning the blood off his skin. Then he washed the wound sites with antiseptics before placing a thick compress over each wound and tying them tightly in place with the gauze with his teeth gritted against the pain that flared up at the new pressure. He wasn't sure how long the bandaging would hold, especially when he started walking on the leg, but it would have to do for now.

Smith came back into the bathroom and tossed him a pair of black sweatpants. "Here, put these on."

So McGee toed off his shoes and pulled his ruined slacks completely off and then pulled the sweatpants over both his feet and up as far as he could while still sitting down, so he wouldn't have to balance on one leg to put them on. He put his shoes back on before standing up and pulling his pants the rest of the way up. He hobbled out into the bedroom. Sarah was already there, sitting on the bed. Jones stood beside the bed, and McGee frowned at him.

"Just thought we'd watch some TV while you're gone," Jones smirked at McGee.

"Make sure that's all you do," Tim growled at him, before turning to Smith. "Shall we?"

"Just a moment," Smith said, pulling a cell phone out of his pocket and dialing. A few seconds later, Jones' cell phone rang. He answered the phone and connected an earpiece to it. Smith did the same with his phone and crammed the earbud into his ear. "See," he told McGee. "Now we'll be in constant contact. If Jones hears something he doesn't like, he'll do something to your sister she won't like. Understand?"

Tim nodded glumly. "I understand." He looked at Sarah. "Don't worry, Sarah. I'll be back in a flash."

She nodded grimly. "Don't worry about me either. Just come back safely."

Smith led McGee through the apartment with a gentle grip around his biceps. McGee found that he could walk without much difficulty if he concentrated his weight on his good leg, even though it gave him a powerful limp.

"My wallet," he said as they neared the front door.

"What?" Smith asked.

"I need my wallet. I need my key card to get into the Yard after hours."

Smith retrieved his wallet from the computer desk and put it in his pocket. "Anything else?"

McGee shook his head. "I'm ready."

* * *

The car ride to the Navy Yard was one of the longest in McGee's life. He sat in the passenger seat with a throbbing leg and a worried heart. He couldn't quite figure out Smith and Jones' plan. They had made no attempt at hiding their faces, and they hadn't worn gloves, so their fingerprints would be all over his apartment. Smith had to know that there would be cameras all over the Navy Yard, and that he most likely would be caught on several of them during their little outing. So even though he doubted very much that Smith and Jones were their real names, they weren't exactly trying to hide. And they were smart enough to know that they would be identified pretty fast once it was discovered what they had done. Of course, if they left Tim and Sarah tied up in the apartment, or killed them when they were done, it would be mid-morning, at least, until someone knew something was wrong. Were they planning on fleeing the country as soon as they got their stash? But 500 grand wasn't really that much money for two people to live a lifetime on Bahamas or some other tropical place. Maybe they had more money tucked away somewhere and wanted to disappear before NCIS's investigation found them. But if they had money, was 500 000 really worth the hassle? Or maybe it was the cocaine that was important. Maybe they owed it to someone dangerous. Or maybe they had a boss somewhere who demanded it of them.

Smith drove surely and legally through the city. Every now and then he exchanged a few words with Jones over the phone. McGee repeatedly demanded to be allowed to speak to Sarah, but was always denied.

It was dark when Smith parked his car as close to the evidence garage he could. McGee had guided him there. Orange street lights lit their way to the staff entrance next to the big garage doors. Smith had a tight grip on McGee for the walk across the parking lot, but McGee wasn't foolish enough to believe that it was out of concern for his injury. When they stood outside the door McGee held his hand out to Smith. "My wallet?"

Smith put it in his hand and McGee used his keycard and security code to open the door. The garage was dimly lit at this hour, but McGee could see just fine. He led Smith to the fenced in evidence storage in the back of the room and again used his keycard and code to open the door. He was aware that Smith had pulled his gun out of its holster again. He appeared a lot more nervous here than he had at the apartment.

"I'm just going to check where it is," McGee said, sitting down at the computer that was just inside the door.

He woke up the sleeping computer, logged in and pulled up the case file. He scanned the file quickly, and then groaned loudly.

"What?" Smith asked tersely.

"It's not here," McGee said.

"What do you mean, it's not here?" Smith asked harshly. "Are you tricking us?"

"No trick!" McGee promised, holding up his hands. "It's just not here. It's still up in the forensic lab, it hasn't been taken down yet. They must be working late."

"Alright," Smith said. "So we'll go there and get it."

"No!" McGee said quickly. No way was he leading this guy to Abby. It was bad enough that he hadn't been able to keep Sarah out of their claws, he wasn't going to hand over Abby too. What was she doing here so late anyway? "No, it's better if we wait here. A—a—a stash like that, well it has to be guarded, right?" he lied. "To make sure no one steals anything before it's been logged. So, there'll be an armed guard with them until it's locked in here for the night. We should just hide down here and wait until they lock it in. Then we can just take it and get out, just like the original plan. Much more stealthy." He knew he was babbling, but he couldn't stop himself. "Just for a little while. It's late, they have to be close to quitting. Just give it a half hour, all right? That's not much."

"McGee—"

"I'm not fooling you, honest!" McGee almost shrieked. "It's not a trick. I wouldn't, not when Sarah's life is at stake. This is better for you too."

"What do you think, Jones?" Smith said into the phone. "Uh huh. Okay." He looked at Tim. "30 minutes, then we go up there. We don't have all night."

"Good," McGee said relieved. "That's—that's great. Um… we can hide over there, I think," he said pointing towards the large recycling bins that stood in the back of the garage. "There are no lamps over there, no one should be able to see us."

Smith still looked skeptical, but he grabbed Tim's arm again and helped him hobble over there. There was a crate behind the last bin, and Tim gratefully sat down on it, while Smith hovered over him.

The time that followed crept ever so slowly. McGee was sure Smith would call it quits several times, but apparently 30 minutes was the longest period of time in history. When they finally heard the elevator moving, McGee was sure he'd sat on that crate for 20 years, at least.

He stood up quickly, to see over the top of the bin, and Smith shushed him angrily, putting one hand on his chest to keep him in place, and kept the gun pointed at Tim's midriff with the other. McGee froze in place.

When the elevator opened, he heard Abby before he saw her. So she wasn't alone! Maybe Smith wouldn't figure out he had lied. He saw Abby push a cart out of the elevator, with plastic crates of evidence on it. Gibbs followed behind her.

_Oh, boss,_ Tim thought. _See me! Help me! I have to save Sarah. So, don't see me. But help me. Keep Abby safe. _

Abby was talking a mile a minute, telling Gibbs about who knew what. Gibbs trailed behind her, listening indulgently, but not answering. Abby kept talking while she opened the evidence storage door and sat down at the computer. "…and he's going to present a new—huh?"

"What?" Gibbs asked, leaning in through the doorway.

McGee could feel Smith tense up, and the hand on his chest turned into a balled up fist in his shirt and his eyes fluttered nervously between Gibbs and Tim.

"Oh, nothing," Abby said flippantly. "I think someone's been playing with the controls on the chair. I feel like a midget sitting this low. There, that's better. Let me get the evidence logged in properly, and then we can go home."

Smith relaxed a little and his death grip of Tim's shirt eased off. A few minutes later Abby and Gibbs was on their way back, the now empty cart's wheels rattling against the concrete floor.

Smith kept himself and Tim standing still for at least five minutes before he was sure they were really alone. "Okay, let's go," he said, pulling on McGee to get moving.

McGee opened the evidence storage back up and sat down at the computer again. He pulled the case file back up. The evidence was now properly marked with a slot number, so he knew where in the storage unit he would find the money and the drugs.

"This way," he said, leading Smith to the right shelf. The drugs and the money were in two different storage bins.

"You carry it," Smith said.

"All of it?" McGee asked. 10 kilos of heroin and 500 000 dollars took up a lot of space, and was rather heavy.

"Yes, all of it."

McGee rummaged through the evidence box on the shelf below, until he found the duffel bags the money and the drugs had originally been stored in and went about packing everything up. Then he limped ahead of Smith out of the storage.

Turning around a shelf, he stopped in surprise when he saw Gibbs, standing just outside the door, his gun drawn and aimed at them.

"Drop it!" Gibbs called, his voice hard as steel. Immediately McGee felt Smith's arm around his neck and the gun pressed against his temple.

"Jones, we've hit trouble," Smith said.

"No! Wait!" McGee dropped the bags, and heedless of the gun he twisted in Smith's grip, trying to get his hands on the microphone on the hands free. "No! It's okay!" he shouted. "You'll still get your stuff, I promise. Don't hurt her, please!"

"McGee?" Gibbs asked, his gun not wavering.

"They have Sarah, boss," McGee cried out. "In my apartment. They'll hurt her if they don't get the money and the drugs back. Please, you have to let us go."

"Is that right?" Gibbs asked Smith.

"That's right," Smith said. "My partner's taking care of Agent McGee's sister until we can get back to them. If we don't get back, his care taking will change drastically."

Gibbs stood still for a moment, looking into McGee's pleading eyes. "Please, boss…"

"Okay," Gibbs said, slowly lowering his gun. "I'll come with you."

"Thank you kindly," Smith said. "But that won't be necessary." Then his gun moved and he fired two shots, point blank into Gibbs' chest.

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

"No!" McGee screamed. "No, please! Gibbs!"

Gibbs had fallen to the floor and lay unmoving. McGee struggled to go to him, but Smith's strong arms held him back.

"We're leaving now," Smith said harshly. "Pick up the bags."

"No, I have to help him," McGee argued. "Is he breathing? I can't see if he's breathing."

"If you don't move now, your sister will stop breathing too," Smith threatened. "Hurry up! Pick up the bags, now!" He gave McGee a shove, so that he stumbled and cried out as pain shot through his injured leg. He knew that the bandages were already failing, he'd felt blood running down his leg for a while now.

He picked up the bags and Smith grabbed his arm, forcing him forward. McGee kept his eyes on Gibbs as they passed him, but he didn't show any signs of life at all. It was all McGee could do to keep from crying. But the night wasn't over yet.

He heard Smith tell Jones that they were on their way back. McGee felt as if he was walking in his sleep as they walked to the car. He was totally numb. Gibbs couldn't be dead. Not because of a man McGee had brought to the Navy Yard. Gibbs couldn't die in the garage of their work place. They were supposed to feel safe in that building. And Gibbs couldn't die. Period! Gibbs was immortal. He had not just seen Gibbs die. He hadn't. It just wasn't possible.

Smith opened the trunk and McGee put the bags inside and then he let himself be ushered into the passenger seat, the knot in his stomach growing each minute.

Smith started the car and drove off. McGee couldn't believe Smith had gotten away with shooting Gibbs. Shouldn't he be struck by lightning or something for an offence like that? But he had to pull himself together. He had to figure something out. Otherwise Sarah and he would die tonight too. He had been worried all night, worried that they wouldn't be left alive. Smith and Jones wouldn't want any witnesses. But he'd let himself hope, hope that his sister would be okay, hope that he could save her by cooperating with Smith. But now that hope was dead. He knew without a doubt that they would kill his sister, and him too, unless he did something about it. But what could he do to stop them? Grab the wheel and drive them off the road? No, Jones was still with Sarah. Could he overpower the both of them when they got to the apartment? Probably not, but maybe. He would surely be killed in the process, but maybe not Sarah. If he could get them to stand close to each other, if he could take them by surprise, if pigs could fly... He would have to try, though. His chances were small, but he had to try.

"Okay, we'll be there in 15 minutes," he heard Smith saying, and then he pulled the earbud out of his ear.

McGee's eyes grew wide. "Did you just hang up? Why? Sarah!"

Smith glanced at him. "She's still fine," he promised. "Just keep doing what you've been doing and she'll stay that way."

Panic, anxiousness and grief battled in McGee's stomach. His little sister…

* * *

When the car stopped outside McGee's apartment building, he got out and went to the trunk to pick up the bags.

"Leave them," Smith said, locking the car. "We'll be on our way in a minute." McGee wondered who he meant when he said 'we', but felt that it would be pushing his luck to ask.

McGee was finding it more and more difficult to walk. The pain was getting harder to ignore and blood was running down his leg and pooling in his shoe, squishing between his toes when he walked, but he couldn't care less. He just wanted to get up to the apartment and see that his sister was okay, and figure out how to protect her one last time. He still didn't have a viable plan, but he would think of something.

They rode the elevator up and walked to the end of the hall. Smith opened the door and ushered McGee in. "Jones?" he called out, at the same time as McGee called "Sarah?"

There was movement in the bedroom, but it was neither Jones nor Sarah who stepped out of the door.

It was Ziva, and she was armed and dangerous.

Smith was fast as lightning, stepping behind McGee to use him as a human shield and shoving the gun into his ribs, but McGee barely even noticed. Hope had flared up in him again, this time so hot he felt his face flush.

"Ziva?" _Thank god, thank god, thank god, thank god. _"What— Where's Sarah?"

"I sent her out of the apartment," Ziva said calmly. "She's unharmed, McGee."

McGee's knees buckled in relief and there was a buzzing noise in his ears, as if he was about to faint. Smith and Ziva were talking over his head, and Smith was pulling him backwards, towards the door, still hoping for escape.

"We already have your partner," Ziva said, following them, step by step. "He's not quite so unharmed. You might as well give up now and save yourself a world of trouble."

"If you let me go," Smith tried to negotiate, "I promise to leave your friend alive. He just has to walk me back to the car, and then I'll let him go."

McGee heard a gun cock behind them, and then Gibbs' voice. "I think you've gone as far as you're going to go."

Again, McGee's knees buckled in relief, and this time he actually fell down, since Smith chose that moment to let him go. When his knees connected with the floor, pain reverberated through his thigh into his whole body and it made him cry out, his vision momentarily blacking out as he fell down, landing face first on the carpet. He had to stay still for a few moments to get his breathing under control before he could roll over on his back. When he did, he saw Gibbs slapping cuffs on Smith with apparent pleasure, and Ziva was kneeling down on one knee next to him.

"McGee, are you okay?" she asked worriedly, putting a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly.

"Sure," McGee said, staring past her, not really listening. "Gibbs! You—you—"

"I was wearing a vest, McGee," Gibbs smiled crookedly at him. "But thanks for the concern."

"A vest," McGee breathed. "Of course you were. But how did you know?" He struggled to sit up, but his limbs felt strangely uncoordinated, so Ziva had to give him a gentle hand, supporting his back once he was upright.

Gibbs shoved Smith further into the room, making him sit down in a chair. "Abby noticed that you were logged into the computer in the evidence storage and that you had highlighted the section about drugs and the money. Since you were supposed to be at home and had no business to be looking into the evidence that late at night, she raised the alarm once we were back in the elevator. We went back up and checked the security tapes for the last hour and saw you being held at gunpoint, so I put on the vest under my jacket and took the stairs back down. When you told me they were holding Sarah in your apartment, I figured we needed backup, so when he shot me I played dead. The minute you were out the door, I called Ziva to come pay a neighborly visit since she lives the closest to you, and then I got into a car and followed you here."

"Thank god for Abby," McGee sighed. He wished he could say that he had left the computer logged on on purpose, but it really had just been a case of anxiety-driven absentmindedness. "So, where's Sarah? And what happened to Jones?"

"Sarah's down in the laundry room," Ziva said. "And if Jones is that other guy, then I've got him tied up in the bedroom. He put up a bit of struggle, but a broken nose put a stop to that." She smiled smugly.

Suddenly Tony came skidding through the door, out of breath. "I came as fast as I could! Is it over? Did I miss it? And who does Ziva have tied up in the bedroom and can I watch?"

McGee was struggling to get up from the floor, but he couldn't get his legs to work. "I have to get to Sarah. I have to see her."

"No," Ziva said, holding him down. "You shouldn't move. You're hurt, McGee."

"Yeah, you don't look so good, Probie," Tony frowned. "You stay here; I'll go get Sarah for you. Where is she?"

"I sent her down to the laundry room," Ziva said.

"Be right back!" Tony sauntered off.

Gibbs came and knelt next to them. "The rest of the backup should be here any minute. They can transport the prisoners. Ambulance is on its way, too. Where are you hurt?"

"My leg," McGee mumbled, massaging his thigh above the injury.

"Sarah said he'd been shot," Ziva supplied.

"Boss, I don't know what happened," McGee said. "They were here when I came home, and they threatened to kill Sarah. I didn't know what to do. I didn't have a choice. I'm sorry you got hurt. I thought you were dead, it was horrible!"

"Seems to me you knew exactly what to do," Gibbs said, patting him on his uninjured leg. "You protected your sister, I'm just fine and no one else was hurt. It's not your fault they chose to pick on you. They could've come after any of us and it was just a fluke that Sarah happened to be here today. Nothing you could do about that."

In just a few minutes Sarah came rushing through the door. She hurriedly fell to her knees and barreled into Tim. As they clutched each other tightly, Tim could feel his own heart thundering in his chest. His pulse must've been skyrocketing for hours now. No wonder he felt like he had run a marathon.

"Oh, Tim," she said. "You're back! I was so worried about you. Mom would skin me alive if she knew I'd let you get hurt."

Tim snorted. "Let me—? Sarah! Are you okay?" he asked, pushing Sarah away to get a good look at her, holding her face tenderly in his hands.

"I'm fine," she promised, squeezing his hands. "Just fine. Except that— that _terrorist_ made me watch America's Next Top Model while we waited for you to get back. He can get the electric chair for that, can't he?"

Tim smiled at her. "Afraid not. You're sure you're okay?"

"Absolutely. But…"

"But what?" Tim asked worriedly.

"I think I'm going to move back to my dorm room. Greta may be weird, but at least she's never tried to shoot me."

"Good thinking," Tim agreed. "But I think you should keep the key to my apartment. In case you need it. But you have to bring your own eggs next time!"

"Deal," Sarah promised.

* * *

Two weeks later Tim was sound asleep in his bed. It was all over now. Every scrap of evidence had been analyzed, all the witnesses and suspects had been thoroughly interrogated and all reports were filed. The case was over and closed and had been handed over to the prosecutors.

Smith and Jones – or lieutenants Dallen and Wheelan as they were really called – had indeed been the ringleaders in this little circus. They had started off on a low level, just selling drugs to the enlisted men and women on base, but had since escalated and had towards the end graduated to smuggling. The ten kilos NCIS had retrieved had been bound for a Middle East underground crime syndicate, and the 500 000 was just a down payment from their customers there. So they had needed the drugs back to avoid being killed by their customers, and they had needed the money back to facilitate the escape they had already started planning.

Now, of course, the only thing they had to look forward to was a long, government sponsored vacation at an all-inclusive facility. McGee smiled smugly in his sleep when he thought about it.

Sarah had, of course, already started to abuse the privilege of holding a key to his apartment, but since she kept showing up with food and get-well presents, he hadn't busted her on it… yet.

And as of today, he would be officially back at work – if only on desk duty. Yup, life was pretty good.

McGee suddenly woke up when his bedroom lights were turned on and someone shouted in his ear. "Goooood morning, sunshine!"

Asleep or not, that voice could not be denied or go unrecognized. Tony. McGee sprang up like a jack in the box, with his heart hammering in his throat. Tony was by his head, grinning madly. Ziva stood by the foot of the bed, her arms casually crossed over her chest. And Abby was already jumping on his bed.

"Wha—? Good morning?" he echoed confused. "What's going on? How did you get in?"

"Pah," Ziva snorted. "Your lock, it is a piece of cookie."

"Cake, Ziva," Abby corrected her automatically and then she got very excited. "Oh, we should all eat cake, to celebrate!"

"Celebrate what?" McGee asked.

"Cake is not breakfast food, Abby," Tony protested, everyone ignoring McGee's question.

"It can be, if you want it to be," Abby said. "Right, McGee?"

"Well," he answered, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Pancakes are breakfast food."

Abby beamed at him and ruffled his hair as you would pat a dog. "See? See how smart he is? Aren't you glad he's coming back to work again?"

McGee shook her hand off him. "What are you guys doing here?"

"We wanted to make sure you weren't late for your first day back at work," Abby grinned at him, still bouncing up and down even while seated.

McGee glanced at his alarm clock. "It's 5.05!"

"Blame Ziva," Tony said. "She wanted to come directly after her morning run. Anyway, we're taking you out for breakfast. Why don't you hop into the shower while we snoop around your stuff? Things have changed since I was here last. Is that a new dresser? Now, I wonder… which drawer would be McGee's naughty drawer? I'm betting it's the bottom one. Probie is clearly a bottom person."

"Oh oh oh!" Abby said excitedly, raising her hand like a school girl. "I'm putting all my money on the top one, I'm sure of it."

"I don't know if I can accept your bet, Abby," Tony said seriously. "You might sit on inside information since you used to sleep here. But… in the spirit of the day, I will. So Ziva, you want to take your chances with the middle one?"

"Fine by me," Ziva said. "McGee always struck me as a middle man anyway."

With a deep groan McGee fell back on his bed and pulled the covers up over his head. That was it! Tomorrow, he would exchange his front door for a bank vault door. Complete with armed guards and an attack dog. And maybe a troll… And a moat…

THE END

* * *

**A/N:** I haven't the foggiest what drugs cost in the criminal society, so all figures are completely and totally made up, and I don't really care if they're right or wrong. Because drugs are bad, kiddies. Remember that!

Thanks a lot for reading and for all the wonderful reviews. Hope it's been as fun for you as it has been for me!


End file.
